


Minimum Wage in the Land of the Lost

by flashforeward



Series: The Bureau of Lost [1]
Category: Eerie Indiana
Genre: Gen, Mega Voodoo Eerie Weirdness, The Bureau of Lost
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-08 21:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17988641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashforeward/pseuds/flashforeward
Summary: Marshall Teller needs a summer job, Al needs an assistant to help him catch back up on all that filing he’s terrible at before Lodgepool and Head Office find out how bad it’s gotten.





	1. Employment Opportunities in the Greater Eerie Metropolitan Area

**Author's Note:**

> In memory of Dick Miller (1928-2019) who played Al in the Eerie, Indiana episode "The Losers".
> 
> Thank you to Deifire for beta reading!

Marshall Teller sighed and sat back, staring hard at the computer screen and willing his resume to look a little less pathetic. If he could include Paranormal Investigations as job experience, he would have been fine, but his mother had taken to reading over his applications before he turned them in and she’d said it didn’t reflect well on his state of mind. “It’s fine that you and Simon still enjoy make believe,” Marilyn Teller had said, “but potential employers don’t need that information. Unless you’re going to be a writer.” She’d given him that look then, the one that managed to encourage him to pursue his dreams while also cautioning him about who he shared his particular brand of imagination with. 

Moms were good at saying things without saying anything. It was really unnerving. Marshall made a mental note to investigate the possibility that living in Eerie heightened mom abilities as he sent his resume to the clunky piece of machinery that took up the half of the desk the computer monitor didn’t. The printer gave a high pitched whine, then slowly began transferring the words on the screen onto a piece of paper. Marshall stood and stretched, pacing away from the family computer corner. This would take awhile and he may as well read over the application his dad had brought home and maybe fill it out.

He didn’t particularly _want_ to work in the Things Inc. mail room, but it was good to have a back-up plan for his back-up plan. Things Inc. would at least give him some access to one of the weirder locations in Eerie, but he doubted working in the mail room would put him into contact with much information. Still, if he was going to be able to drive him and Simon around this summer, he needed to be able to pay for gas and so far everywhere else he’d applied wasn’t currently hiring. He’d turned in applications at the World O’Stuff, the Dragon of the Black Pool, and even a few stores at the Eerie Mall, but his procrastination had gotten the better of him. None of the places where he’d applied had open positions. They all promised they’d keep his application on file for a year and call him if anything came up, but he doubted it would. Or, if it did, it would be too late.

Only Mr. Radford had given him a definite no. _Never needed any help, Mr. Teller_ , he’d said. _And the last time I hired someone, he tied me up in the basement and took over my life, so you can probably understand my reticence._

Marshall did understand, but he was still disappointed. Working for Mr. Radford would have gotten him close to the Eerie Powers That Be in a way he never would have dreamed. Maybe that was the real reason Radford wouldn’t hire him, maybe he knew or suspected that Marshall Teller had ulterior motives. Radford may have helped them out in the past, but Marshall still wasn’t sure they could completely trust him. He was definitely more trustworthy than Mayor Chisel, but that wasn’t really saying a lot.

Marshall blew out a breath and shook his head as he picked up the Things Inc. application Edgar had brought home for him. It didn’t do to dwell on the what ifs right now, Marshall had to focus: get a job so he could transport himself and Simon to their investigations. Or just to hang out with their friends - Tod had invited them to a concert next week and Marshall wasn’t allowed to borrow the car until he had proof of employment and, therefore, the ability to pay for gas.

Behind him, the printer gave a weird grinding sound and Marshall turned as it spat a piece of paper out onto the desktop. He shook his head and picked up his resume, scanning it over to make sure the printer hadn’t added anything in. It was fine, as expected. Without Simon there, everything printed out the way it was supposed to, but Marshall still checked. His hypothesis that the printer had fallen in love with Simon could only be proven with more data both with and without Simon in the room.

Sitting back down at the desk, Marshall tucked his resume behind the Things Inc. application, picked up a pen, and set to work. The application was mostly repeating the information on his resume, and Marshall entered the information by rote. He’d done this enough times now, though this was the first time he’d had to provide an actual resume. He didn’t entirely understand why he needed it, but maybe it was some weird adult custom that Marshall wasn’t ready to understand yet. Or maybe the HR staff at Things Inc. had terrible memories. Or maybe they tended to eat paper and this way there was a back-up of the information.

At the very bottom of the page, Marshall froze, clenching his pen a little too tightly. _That_ was different. The last item on the application was a waiver that Marshall was required to sign in order to be eligible to work for Things Inc. in any capacity. Marshall read and reread the sentence, letting the legaleze settle into his brain and translate itself into normal English: _I, the undersigned, absolve Things Inc. of any liability in the event of injury or illness caused by experiments being conducted on the Things Inc. premises._

Translation: I won’t sue my employer if their mega-voodoo-Eerie-weirdness experiments make me sick or dead.

Marshall didn’t want to sign. He didn’t want to think about the fact that his father had signed. Weren’t adults supposed to know better? He sighed and set his pen aside, reaching for the phone. He figured he would run it by Simon, see what he thought. He was just starting to dial when a knock came at the door. Figuring that his best friend had anticipated the need for a Weirdness Investigation meeting, Marshall set the phone back in its cradle and stood to go answer the door, but his mom swooped out of the kitchen and jogged over, pulling the door open before Marshall was even halfway across the living room.

There was no one there. Marilyn stood still for a moment, then leaned out and looked around the yard. She made a sort of hmph sound and was about to close the door when she froze, bent down and picked something up off the porch, and stepped back into the house, finally letting the door swing closed. “Marshall,” she called even as he arrived at her side. The item in her hand was a buff colored envelope that was completely blank except for Marshall’s name and address. Marilyn looked up at Marshall with a raised eyebrow.

Marshall shrugged. He didn’t know what it was any more than his mother did, but he was definitely curious and if he let _her_ know just how little _he_ knew, he was never going to find out what was inside. 

Marilyn examined the envelope, turning it in her hands and carefully sliding her palms over it, feeling what was inside. “I think it’s just a piece of paper,” she said, handing it to Marshall. “But open it here, just in case.” She crossed her arms over her chest and waited for Marshall to comply.

Marshall wasn’t sure what kind of Eerie weirdness this envelope contained, but he definitely knew he didn’t want his mom to find out what it was - it was safer that way, for both of them. Still, even he could admit this looked suspicious. It couldn’t have come through the mail, not without postage, and he didn’t recognize the handwriting. As much as he wanted to call Simon and hide out in the secret spot to open it under controlled conditions, he supposed he could understand his mom’s concern.

Carefully, he slipped his finger under the flap of the envelope and slowly peeled it up, then he held the mouth of it open wide enough that you could see in at a glance and showed it to his mom, who gave a nod, though she didn’t look entirely convinced. “All right,” she said. “But Marshall,” she added as Marshall started running up the stairs, all job applications and resume nonsense forgotten. He paused halfway up and looked back at her. “Be careful,” she said.

“Of course, mom,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, then he sprinted the rest of the way up the two flights of stairs to the secret spot and closed the door behind him. He’d call Simon after he saw what was in the envelope, because there was no way it wasn’t some sort of Eerie Weirdness.

**

> _Teller,_
> 
> _Not sure if you remember me, but you and your little friend gave my supervisor quite the run around a few years back and got him demoted and me promoted. Never thanked you for that, so here it is: thanks for that._
> 
> _Enough of the mush, I’m writing because one of those shops in the Mall lost your application and it came across my desk. Sorry, you won’t be working at Leather & Lace & Bottles of Mace - not sure why you’d want to, but I guess you can’t be too picky when you’re sixteen and have negative experience in retail. Worked out in my favor, though, you looking for a job and them losing that application._
> 
> _I need an assistant. I’ve gotten a bit behind on my cataloguing and I need someone to help me catch up. I can’t tell Lodgepool, he’ll go straight to Head Office and bid for his job back, and obviously I can’t go to Head Office. So, what do you say, Teller? I can pay minimum wage under the table and the only condition is you don’t tell anybody - especially Lodgepool. And for as long as you’re working for me, no one in your family will lose anything “important.”_
> 
> _What d’you say, kid? If you want the job, leave this envelope on a table at the World O’Stuff, it’ll find its way to me. If you don’t, just throw it out._
> 
> _Al_

“What are you going to do, Mars?” Simon asked, setting the letter aside. Marshall had read it over twice before going back downstairs to call his most trusted associate. He couldn’t make this decision alone, there were too many variables to take into account.

“I don’t know,” Marshall replied. “This could be an amazing opportunity to look into Eerie’s weirdness, but it’s also pretty dangerous.”

Simon nodded slowly. “You could get Lost,” he said in a grave tone.

Silence settled over them for a few moments as they both considered the ramifications of working for the Bureau of Lost. Marshall shuddered at the thought of truly becoming a Code Five - the Bureau’s classification for lost persons. If anyone found out that Marshall was secretly working for Al, he had no doubt the Bureau’s Head Office would _make_ him go Lost. And if not him entirely, then at least his memories.

And therein lay the dilemma.

“Think of all the information I could collect,” Marshall said. “Everything that anyone in Eerie has ever lost or forgotten is down there.” That was what it came back to: was the possibility of answering some of the questions he’d had since moving to Eerie worth the risk of never coming home?

“I think we need a Pro/Con list,” Simon said after a few minutes. He pulled a pad of paper and a pen towards him and, in large letters, wrote Pro on one half and Con on the other. “All right,” he said, jotting down the points they’d already made. In its favor, the job put Marshall in a central location of weirdness and gave him access to information they would otherwise never see. On the other hand, there was the whole becoming a Code Five thing. Plus, he could never use the Bureau as a job reference or include them on his resume.

“Add that their cataloguing system makes no sense,” Marshall said, tapping the Cons list. Simon nodded and added it. “And add income as a Pro.” 

Simon did so, then leaned back in his chair, tapping at his chin with the pen. “It’s looking like it’d be better not to do it, Marshall,” he said. “There are definitely more risks than rewards.”

“But we also have to factor in just how good those rewards are,” Marshall said, pulling the pad of paper to him as if a closer look would help him do just that. He scanned over Simon’s scrawl for a few moments, then looked up and met his friend’s gaze. “I really think the information is worth it,” he said.

Simon chewed at his lip. “Are you sure?” he asked. “What do I do if you never come home?” The question hung heavy between them and Marshall swallowed hard. He hadn’t been thinking about this job in regards to other people, but now that Simon asked he felt a hot wave of guilt in his stomach. It wasn’t just what would happen to Simon, though that was important, it was also the rest of his family. They would never know where he’d gone or what had happened. He would just disappear. And, worst case scenario, the Bureau would make everyone forget him.

And Marshall hadn’t even thought about it.

Simon pulled in a deep, steadying breath and said, “We should at least figure out a rescue plan, just in case.”

Marshall studied Simon’s earnest expression and nodded. “You’re right. I’ll send Al my acceptance and then we can sit down and hash out an escape plan and a rescue op for if everything goes sideways, okay?”

Simon didn’t look placated, but he gave a sharp nod and stood. “Discuss it over black cows?” he asked, the smile on his face forced and painful.

Marshall looked away, busying himself tucking the letter back in its envelope. He’d written one word at the bottom, yes, even though Al had just wanted the envelope as a sign. Marshall wanted to make sure there was no question: he was going all in on this. He clutched the envelope in one hand and stood, clapping his other hand on Simon’s shoulder. “Discuss it over black cows,” he agreed, then gestured for Simon to lead the way.

**

The World O’Stuff was quiet. It was a bright, sunny day. The warmth of summer filled the air with a lazy haze, and most people had opted to spend their day at the lake. That was fine by Marshall. He’d dropped the envelope on a table and joined Simon at the soda counter, trying to resist the urge to keep checking on the envelope to see if it had been Lost yet. If he kept looking at it, it would never be Lost, and Al would never get his answer and assume he didn’t want the job.

And the more Marshall thought about it, the more he wanted the job.

Radford whipped up their black cows with nips of java quickly and made a little bit of small talk, but the man seemed to know they wanted to discuss some things alone and he headed off to work on inventory in a back corner of the store while Simon and Marshall sat, sipping their shakes and quietly discussing how to get Marshall out of the Bureau should a worst case scenario crop up.

“Do you think you still get in through the dryers?” Marshall asked.

Simon nodded. “It’ll be harder since I've grown, but I should be able to. If I have to go looking for you, though…” he trailed off. If he had to go looking for Marshall, there was no way to keep the tube extended so they could get out. “I could, er, recruit someone to help me.”

 _Someone_ meant Dash X. While he had helped Marshall and Simon out on a few occasions, Marshall still didn’t trust him. Simon did, and spent more time with Dash than Marshall had, which worried Marshall. He trusted Simon, of course he did, but he didn’t know what kind of influence Dash would be on the younger boy.

Simon seemed to read Marshall’s thoughts on his face because he quickly added, “There’s not really anyone else we can ask, Mars.”

Marshall sighed. “All right, but only if you absolutely have to.” Besides the fact that Marshall doubted Dash would care if he got trapped in the Bureau of Lost for the rest of time, he also didn’t trust Dash to be in the Bureau without either trying to find a way to sell everything down there or getting Lost on a hunt for information about himself.

They quietly sipped their black cows for a few minutes. 

“Marshall?” Simon asked, toying with his straw.

“Yeah?”

“Be careful, okay?”

“I will, Simon. I promise.”

A clatter behind them made them both jump and turn around. No one was there, but the envelope was gone from the table where Marshall had left it. “Guess it’s official,” he said, turning back to his milkshake.

He did not see a tuft of gray hair sticking out from behind a booth.


	2. Time Management

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Deifire for beta reading!

Al had sent Marshall another blank envelope two days after Marshall accepted the job offer. The instructions told him to dress for work and wait in the blind alley by the Dragon of the Black Pool at 7:30 in the morning. Marshall set his alarm for six and shut it off as soon as it rang, not wanting his mom to wonder what he was doing up this early. He’d told his parents he’d found a job, but he’d given them as few details as possible. He wanted to avoid a confrontation on the subject.

 

Syndi was in the shower, getting ready for her own summer job working as a fact checker at the Eerie Examiner. Marshall had anticipated this and had showered the night before, so he quickly changed into a pair of slacks and a polo shirt so he could get his backpack loaded with supplies for whatever investigating he’d be able to get done today.

 

He made sure he had his polaroid camera, a tape recorder, and a flask of holy water (just in case) and was about to sneak downstairs to load up on snacks when a tapping sound came from his window. Marshall suppressed a shriek and turned quickly to see a familiar and unwelcome face peering in through the glass. Dash waved a hand, silently urging Marshall to hurry up and let him in. Cursing under his breath, Marshall crossed back to the window and unlocked it, stepping back and letting Dash make his own way inside.

 

“You’re so kind, Teller,” he rasped as he crawled into the room and sat on the edge of Marshall’s desk, feet propped on the chair. “What are you in a hurry for?”

 

As if Dash didn’t already know. Why else would he be there? “I have a job,” Marshall said. If Dash was going to play dumb, Marshall wasn’t going to just give him information. “Did you need something? I don’t want to be late on my first day.”

 

“This _job_ wouldn’t happen to be in a hub of Eerie weirdness, would it?” Dash asked with feigned nonchalance. Try as he might, it was clear that he was very interested in Marshall’s answer.

 

“So what if it were?” Marshall asked, choosing his words carefully.

 

“You wouldn’t be holding out on your buddy Dash, would you?”

 

“I.” Marshall shook his head and furrowed his brow, staring at Dash in confusion. “I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean.”

 

Dash rolled his eyes. “You’re going to cut me in, right? Sneak me into this place sometime so I can do some of my own investigating? Not just save it all for your little club?”

 

“I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” Marshall said. He ducked his head and rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to avoid Dash’s piercing gaze. “If the wrong people found out I was working there...Hell, if the guy who hired me found out I’d snuck someone in, I could get trapped down there or I could lose my memories or…,” Marshall trailed off, Dash’s gaze hot on his skin.

 

It was the wrong thing to say.

 

“Sure, Slick,” Dash said, swinging his legs around so he could slide back out the window. “Losing your memories. Why would anybody want that?” He disappeared into the still morning, leaving Marshall with a mix of relief and guilt settling heavy in his gut.

 

Trying to ignore his racing thoughts on the subject of one Dash X, Marshall quickly shut the window and swung his backpack over his shoulder, glancing at his watch. He cursed. If he stopped for breakfast and to pack snacks for the day, he’d be late. But he couldn’t very well go to work on an empty stomach, not if Al wanted him working at his best. With a sigh and one more silent curse, he trooped quietly out of his room and down the stairs into the kitchen. Syndi was half asleep at the table, spooning cereal into her mouth and staring at the newspaper open in front of her. She gave Marshall a small wave, but didn’t really seem to register that it was him. That was fine, he wouldn’t have to answer a lot of questions about what he was doing up this early or where he was going. And if he didn’t have to lie to Syndi now, it would make lying to his parents easier. If it came to that. Which he hoped it didn’t.

 

At the pantry, Marshall grabbed a few handfuls of granola bars and some bags of chips. Not the best lunch options, but he didn’t have time to make a sandwich or anything. He dumped the food in his bag, then zipped it up and hefted it back over his shoulder before grabbing one last granola bar and ripping it open. Breakfast.

 

He took the back door and then swung around to the front of the house to grab his bike. As he chewed on his breakfast and pedaled towards downtown Eerie, he wondered if it would have been better if he’d walked. Would his bike be safe as long as he was working for Al, or did that not count as something important? He supposed he could ask, remind Al that if he couldn’t get to work then the entire arrangement was bust, so his bike was _definitely_ important.

 

He glanced at his watch as he rounded the corner onto Main Street. He was already five minutes late. He pushed himself harder, putting on a burst of speed and making for the Dragon of the Black Pool, certain he was going to get there and find that Al had given up on him and left and he’d just be waiting there all day for a Charon that would never come.

 

He turned the corner into the alley and pulled hard on the brakes, skidding to a stop. His heart sank as he dismounted from his bike and wheeled it over to a pole. The alley was empty. He locked the bike up and paced to the end, looking along the wall as if a hidden door would open up and lead him down into the Bureau. But there was nothing.

 

Marshall sighed and headed back towards his bike. He wasn’t going to wait around all day on the vain hope that Al would check for him. Oddly, he was most disappointed that he would have to go back to applying for jobs. At this rate he wouldn’t get hired until school started back up again, and by then it would be too late.

 

“Ten minutes,” a voice behind him said and he froze, turning around slowly to find Al leaning against the sidewall of the restaurant, arms crossed over his chest. He raised an eyebrow and Marshall hurried back towards him, wondering where he’d come from.

 

“I’m sorry,” Marshall said. “I, uh. Had something I had to take care of.” The last thing he wanted to do was try to explain Dash X to Al. For all Marshall knew, Dash was an escaped Code Five - unlikely, given the information they’d managed to find out from Ned, but it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility and no matter how much Marshall Teller hated Dash, he wouldn’t wish being a Code Five on anybody.

 

Al gave a grunt of acknowledgement and turned on his heel. “Be on time tomorrow,” he said. “I’m not waiting for you again.” He started forward, but Marshall hesitated.

 

“Can’t you show me how to get in on my own?” he asked. “That would save us both time.”

 

“You’re not an official employee,” Al said, not looking back or even slowing down. Marshall hurried to catch up. “If you tried to get in on your own, you’d trigger every alarm we have and Head Office would swoop in and ship you off to Section Five before you could blink.”

 

“Oh.” Marshall stayed close to Al after that, afraid to ask any more questions.

 

**

 

Al’s office in the Bureau of Lost was nothing like how Marshall remembered it. Sure, three years ago it was cluttered and chaotic, but since then it had reached a whole other level. Stacks of lost items were arrayed over the floor, a narrow space between mountains of misplaced knickknacks the only area left for walking. The desk was buried by an avalanche from one of the piles that had sent the lamp to its side and left no space on the desktop for doing any work. Marshall couldn’t help but stare.

 

“I got a little backed up,” Al said, biting the end off a cigar and spitting it in no particular direction. Marshall shuddered as he realized he would be the one cleaning that up. “I just need a little help getting these items catalogued and sent off to their appropriate sections. Think you can handle that?” He didn’t wait for Marshall to reply, just sauntered off into the sea of junk and disappeared around a corner.

 

Marshall stood there, staring around him at the accumulation of stuff. How was he supposed to catalogue and file all of this on his own over the course of one summer? He had no idea where to start. His plan had been to familiarize himself with the cataloguing system first and then get to work, but that had been when he thought Al was a few days behind, not what looked like Eons. Marshall couldn’t possibly do this alone, and he could think of only one person who would be able to help.

 

“Hey, Al?” he called out. He stayed where he was, not wanting to get lost among the detritus while trying to find Al.

 

“What is it?” the man called back from who knew where.

 

“I really think you should call Mr. Lodgepool,” Marshall said. “There’s a lot of stuff here that needs cataloguing and he knows the system better than I ever could.”

 

Al appeared again, puffing at his cigar and staring down at Marshall. “What’d I say?” he asked.

 

“That I can’t tell anybody but especially Lodgepool,” Marshall recited, voice quiet. “But Al, I can’t-”

 

“You can and you will or else we’re both screwed, you got it?” Al waited for Marshall to give a hesitant nod before he disappeared again.

 

With a sigh, Marshall trooped up to the desk. He figured that would be the best place to start, clear up some work space so he could tackle the rest of this. He knew he wouldn’t be able to make even the smallest dent in the backlog, and he knew that if he couldn’t get the work done he didn’t have any hope of sneaking off to do research, but none of that mattered as much as getting the Bureau of Lost back on track before Al’s neglect started affecting the economy topside.

 

Apparently some of what Lodgepool had told him on that first trip to the Bureau had stuck, because seeing these mountains and piles of Lost items left in an uncertain limbo made Marshall feel a little sick, wondering what problems Al had caused for the world above.

 

Marshall pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly as he stood by the desk. He settled his backpack on the floor by his feet and then took in the mess on the desk. It wasn’t as bad up close as it had looked from a distance. The lamp falling over had made it seem worse than it was, but the few items that had fallen on the desktop were easily shifted to the side to be dealt with later while Marshall sorted through what looked like mail and interoffice memos. He righted the lamp and started sorting the memos by date, putting the newest last so he could get to anything Al should already have read first. The mail and memos weren’t as backdated as he’d expected - a few months rather than a few years - but it still wasn’t good.

 

Marshall opened each memo, scanned it, and set it aside, making different piles depending on the urgency of the information. It all seemed fairly straightforward, nothing pressing, until he got to the last few memos. First, Head Office wanted to know why there were reports that Al’s receiving location had slowed down considerably. Then Head Office wanted to know a good time to come and asses Al’s receiving location and determine if he needed system updates. And, finally, Head Office would be arriving in two weeks to do an assessment of Al’s work and the receiving location.

 

The final memo had arrived a week ago.

 

Marshall swallowed and looked up, scanning his gaze over the piles again.

 

They were so, so screwed.


End file.
